Merry Christmas Darling (Holiday Codas) Read online

  In 2012 I began a holiday tradition of writing Christmas codas for some of my — and your — favorite stories. I ran the codas on my blog and left them up there for readers to enjoy all year round.

  Readers requested that I collect the codas and make them available digitally and in print, and I thought that was a fun idea, which is how you come to be reading this. I decided to add another ten new codas to the collection, as well as some recipes for cocktails and dishes that are either featured in the original works or seem to add some final comment or insight into the era or the characters or their relationship.

  But because the codas are a holiday gift to you, my readers, they also remain available for free on my blog.

  Happiest of Holidays to you all. May this season be filled with love and laughter, and may the New Year bring you health and happiness.

  MERRY CHRISTMAS, DARLING (HOLIDAY CODAS)

  Smashwords edition, December 2013

  Copyright (c) 2013 by Josh Lanyon

  Cover by K.B. Smith

  Original cover art by Johanna Ollila

  Edited by Keren Reed

  All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from JustJoshin Publishing, Inc.

  ISBN: 978-1-937909-57-4

  Published in the United States of America

  JustJoshin Publishing, Inc.

  3053 Rancho Vista Blvd.

  Suite 116

  Palmdale, CA 93551

  www.joshlanyon.com

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  The Ghost Wore Yellow Socks: Perry and Nick

  In Plain Sight: Glen and Nash

  Mummy Dearest: Drew and Fraser

  Green Glass Beads: Archer and Rake

  This Rough Magic: Brett and Rafferty

  Lone Star: Mitch and Web

  Heart Trouble: Ford and Jacob

  Sort of Stranger Than Fiction: Ethan and Michael

  Fair Game: Elliot and Tucker

  Come Unto These Yellow Sands: Swift and Max

  The White Knight: Sean and Dan

  Just Desserts: Ridge and Tug

  The Dark Farewell: Julian and David

  The Dickens With Love: James and Sedgwick

  The Parting Glass: Tim and Luke

  Lovers and Other Strangers: Finn and Con

  Ghost of a Chance: Sam and Rhys

  In Sunshine or In Shadow: Keir and Rick

  Icecapade: Noel and Robert

  Other People’s Weddings: Griff and Hamar

  Cards on the Table: Tim and Jack

  Perfect Day: Wyatt and Graham

  I Spy Something Christmas: Mark and Stephen

  Snowball in Hell: Nathan and Matthew

  Somebody Killed His Editor: Christopher and J.X.

  The Darkling Thrush: Colin and Septimus

  Until We Meet Once More: Vic and Sean

  Kick Start: Will and Taylor

  The Dark Tide: Adrien and Jake

  MERRY CHRISTMAS, DARLING

  (HOLIDAY CODAS)

  Josh Lanyon

  THE GHOST WORE YELLOW SOCKS: Nick and Perry

  “You’ll like California.” Nick turned his head on the pillow and caught the shine of Perry’s eyes in the muted light, the gleam of his smile. His blond hair was still damp and spiky from the snow.

  “I think so.” Perry sounded content. “I want to paint the beach.”

  “There’s plenty of beach in California.”

  “Yeah.”

  They had dug the sheets out of the box Nick had packed a couple of hours earlier and made up the bed. Nick’s sleeping bag was unzipped, spread out over them like a quilt. It was comfortable. Probably the most comfortable bed Nick could remember, though that had more to do with Perry lying next to him than clean sheets and a good mattress.

  The snow, which had started falling while they were otherwise occupied, made a soothing shushing sound against the bedroom window.

  “It’ll be good for you. California, I mean. The climate and everything.”

  “Yep.” Perry still sounded supremely untroubled. Untroubled and young.

  “You…don’t think you’ll be homesick?”

  Perry chuckled. “Nope.” He wrapped his good arm around Nick’s waist and settled his head more comfortably on Nick’s shoulder. “It’s like my mom used to say. Home is where the heart is.”

  Nick’s own heart seemed to swell with another surge of that unfamiliar emotion. He bent his head, his mouth seeking Perry’s, and Perry responded with that easy enthusiasm.

  When their lips reluctantly parted he said astonishingly, “Don’t worry, Nick. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

  “I know that,” Nick said gruffly.

  “And I promise I won’t get in the way or disrupt your work.”

  “The hell you won’t.” Nick was smiling as his mouth found Perry’s once more.

  IN PLAIN SIGHT: Glen and Nash

  Nash did not have any holiday traditions. He had holiday habits. Christmas dinner with his parents every couple of years. New Year’s parties with work colleagues. Gifts of booze to male colleagues and gifts of coffee to female colleagues. He probably hadn’t bought a Christmas tree since he’d had college roommates to help decorate it.

  So that had been the first question. “Should we get a Christmas tree?”

  Well, not the first question. The first questions had taken place while Glen was still in the hospital recovering. Those had been the big questions: where are we going to live and who’s giving up his job? A two-part question really. And he’d known the answer before he asked.

  He would transfer to the Salt Lake Division and work out of Pocatello. He told himself Glen required every penny of his health insurance right now, so that meant Glen needed his job more, but the fact was, Nash was embarking on a new life and that meant from now on his job was just that, a job. He’d sell his house in Fredericksburg and move in with Glen.

  “Are you sure?” Glen had asked more than once. As happy as he was, he was afraid Nash was making a mistake. And if Nash was honest, he occasionally wondered too. But then he would think of that terrible, terrible time when he had not known whether Glen was alive or dead, and everything seemed clear again.

  His house was still on the market — it was not a good time to try and sell — and it had taken six months for his transfer to go into effect, so he and Glen had been living together for less than two months by the time the holidays rolled around.

  They were still getting to know each other so they were a little careful with each other. Well, a lot careful.

  Glen had admitted once, revealingly, “It’s like we’re doing this backwards.”

  “Do you mind?”

  “Compared to the alternative?”

  That was exactly right. They were starting from the standpoint of knowing they loved each other and wanted to be together. But could you really love someone you didn’t know?

  It seemed the answer was yes, because Nash did believe he loved Glen. More than he had ever loved anyone in his life. Every morning that he woke up beside Glen was a good morning. It just felt right. It felt like he was finally home. It didn’t matter who technically owned the real estate. He felt Glen’s smiles in his chest. He felt at peace listening to Glen’s quiet breathing in the night. And his not quiet breathing made him smile. He liked talking to Glen over breakfast and not talking to him over breakfast. They didn’t have enough dinners together, but he e
njoyed those too.

  He was regularly adding to the small store of everything he knew about Glen. He now knew that Glen liked basketball and photography and fishing and camping. He was an Independent, a non-church-going Protestant, and he did not want children. He did not care about marriage, but he cared very much about commitment. He was close to his family and generally spent the holidays he didn’t work with them.

  Which brought them full circle.

  “A Christmas tree? Sure,” Glen had said. And then, “I don’t have any decorations or anything. But if you want a tree…”

  “I just thought maybe you would,” Nash said hastily. Now he felt silly. He never bothered with this kind of holiday stuff.

  Glen had looked undecided, and then he’d said, “Well…”

  Nash joked, “Are we the kind of guys who get a Christmas tree?”

  Glen stared at him and then he’d seemed to relax. “I think we are. I think we should…” Then he’d stopped looking self-conscious.

  “Should get a tree?” Nash said.

  Glen had said, “Should start building our own traditions.” He’d looked so serious and hopeful that it had been all Nash could do not to grab him then and there.

  That was it exactly. They needed to build traditions together. Their own traditions.

  And just the process of picking their first tree was instructive.

  “Real or fake?” Nash had asked.

  “Real.” Glen had been definite.

  “Do we chop our own or —?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I’m not a lumberjack.”

  Glen had laughed. “That’s okay. I’ve had my fill of lumberjacks.”

  Nash had spluttered, but moved on. “Flocked or unflocked?”

  “It kills the scent.”

  Nash had volunteered, “But it is pretty.”

  “Flocked it is,” Glen had said easily.

  “So. The important question. How big?”

  Glen had met Nash’s eyes and started to laugh. Nash had grabbed him then.

  Glen’s mother had supplied a handful of family ornaments that probably qualified as heirlooms. They had bought the rest themselves at the drug store. Pretty, frosted gold balls, ropes of shiny red beads, and a few silly things — glass balls with bewildered-looking moose and nervous reindeer.

  Not every decision would be made as quickly, and not all the compromises would be as easy, but as Nash sat on the sofa in front of the fire that night, arm around Glen’s shoulders as they admired their handiwork, he felt truly at peace.

  “God rest ye merry gentleman,” sang Josh Groban from the media cabinet. “Let nothing you dismay.”

  Until that moment Nash had always imagined joy as something big and bright and noisy. But in fact joy was also as small as the gleam of firelight on two pairs of slippers, obscure as the reasons for love, and quiet as two people who did not need words.

  MUMMY DEAREST: Drew and Fraser

  “What was that?”

  “Thunder.”

  “That didn’t sound like thunder to me.”

  “It’s thunder.”

  “We should have stayed at the monastery.”

  “No, we should not have.” Fraser’s hazel gaze met mine and I cleared my throat.

  “Mm. Possibly not.” I was not about to let that smug look sit on his face one second longer than I had to. “Why do I let you talk me into these things?” My moan could barely be heard over that of the icy wind outside our tent. Our tent in northern Nepal. You know: the Himalayas. Home to Meh-Teh. AKA the Yeti. AKA the Abominable Snowman.

  Fraser grinned at me over the rim of his mug. His red-rimmed eyes sparkled in his ruddy, wind-burned face. His teeth were white in the gold frame of his beard. “You always say that, but you know you love every minute.”

  “Love every minute!” I spluttered.

  “You have loved every minute of the past five years.”

  “You’re starting to hallucinate. Move closer so we can conserve body heat.”

  Not that we could really get any closer. “Here.” Fraser held out the thermos and I let him top up my mug. “You have to admit, it’s a lot better than garden parties and the opera.”

  “No I don’t.”

  “I took you away from all that.”

  “I’m not forgetting whose fault this is.”

  “I saved you from a life of boredom.”

  “I wasn’t all that bored.”

  “Yes you were. And you’ll thank me for this in the end.”

  “Which will be any minute now. They’ll find our mummified remains in an ice cavern. Beneath an avalanche.”

  “Locked in each other’s arms.” Fraser continued to beam at me while I slurped my steaming cocoa.

  Not bad. The cocoa, I mean. Although the other was alright too. In fact…

  I took another cautious slurp and frowned suspiciously. “What’s in here?”

  “Peppermint schnapps.”

  “Schnapps? Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  “Of course. Drunk and debauched.”

  “Let’s just skip to the debauched part. The hangover isn’t so bad.”

  He touched his plastic mug to mine. “Cheers, Drew. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christ —” I nearly dropped my cup at the boom of sound bouncing off the mountains around us. Fraser’s blazing look of joy told me all I needed to know. “Hey. That was not thunder!”

  Perfect Cup of Cocoa

  Ingredients

  ⅓ cup unsweetened cocoa powder

  ¾ cup sugar

  Pinch salt

  ⅓ cup boiling water

  3 ½ cups milk

  ¾ teaspoon vanilla extract

  ½ cup half-and-half cream

  OPTIONAL - 1 ½ ounces of Peppermint Schnapps

  Directions

  Begin by combining the cocoa, sugar and salt in a saucepan. Blend in the boiling water. Bring to easy boil while stirring. Simmer and stir for about 2 minutes, being careful that the mixture does not scorch. Stir in the 3 ½ cups milk and heat until very hot, but DO NOT BOIL. Remove from heat. Add vanilla.

  Divide between four mugs. Add the cream to each of the mugs.

  Song for a Winter’s Night

  GREEN GLASS BEADS: Archer and Rake

  It was a stupid argument.

  Not least because it served to bring about the very thing Archer did not want. Now he was on his own for Solstice AND Christmas. And perhaps for the foreseeable future.

  “You’re not an Irregular anymore,” he had protested, when Rake first brought up the subject of the Christmas party.

  “I served with the Irregulars for four decades.”

  “But you’re not an Irregular now.” This was an important point for Archer because he hated the Irregulars. Rake excepted. It was the only thing about Rake he didn’t like. His past with the Irregulars.

  Rake, who understood him very well, had started out trying to be patient. “I still have friends there. Good friends. I’d like to see them again.”

  “Good friends like Sergeant Orly who tried to have me thrown in prison for thirty years? Can’t you see your good friends another time? Does it have to be Solstice Night?”

  “It’s a party. Everyone will be in one place. That’s the point of inviting me.”

  “It’s Solstice Night!”

  “I know, sweeting. And I’m sorry for that. But we’ll have Réveillon and Christmas together.” Rake nibbled delicately on the upswept point of Archer’s nearest ear. He teased, “And Boxing Day and Feast of St. Stephen and New Year’s and First Footing and Three Kings Day. We’ll celebrate Chinese New Year, if you like. We’ll spend every single holiday you please together. We’ll spend them any way you choose.”

  Archer pulled his head away. “None of those mean as much to me as Solstice!”

  Which was quite true. Solstice was the festival that mattered to the Fae. The Solstices and the Equinoxes. And yet…and yet… He wasn’t five years old, after all. Archer
had spent plenty of Solstices on his own — and without the promise of sharing every other holiday on the calendar with someone he loved — someone who loved him. He knew he was being unreasonable. Even —

  “You’re being childish,” Rake had said.

  And the conversation had gone from precariously balanced to a headlong plummet into the abyss.

  “Is it childish to expect loyalty? Is it childish to expect that I would come first with my-my chosen consort?”

  “It’s childish to imagine I would abandon all other alliances and obligations simply because we’re now together.”

  “Alliances and obligations to people who are my enemies.”

  “Enemies?” Rake had laughed.

  The laughter was a grave mistake because Archer already knew he was being foolish. The laughter stung him on the quick, and he had reacted accordingly.

  At one point — the point where Archer had said, “I oppose everything the Irregulars stand for. If it was up to me they’d be disbanded and destroyed!” — Rake’s demon side had shown briefly in red eyes and very sharp incisors. He had ended the conversation, conversation being a polite word for what was now a slanging match, and gone for a walk, slamming the door to the cottage so hard Mikhail Alexandrovich Vrubel’s painting of the demon surrounded by green moths fell from the wall, landing face first in front of the stone fireplace.

  An hour later Rake had phoned to say he was in San Francisco and that Archer should expect him back in Saint-Malo when he saw him.

  Seven long and lovely months they’d had together, but now it appeared to be over.